


Aren't you curious?

by LionStar (Mel_Sanfo)



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Brienne to the rescue, Different kind of armour, Dominatrix!Brienne, F/M, Fix-It, Past Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister, They're cousins not twins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:37:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22765840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mel_Sanfo/pseuds/LionStar
Summary: After a nasty break up Tyrion sets Jaime up with a professional that will set the record straight.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 5
Kudos: 46
Collections: A Valentine for GumTree





	Aren't you curious?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GumTree](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GumTree/gifts).

> When I set out to make a story this was not what I was aiming for but, it was too good to not go through with it. 
> 
> Enjoy!

From the moment he came into the room Jaime was transfixed by the view.

In hindsight, Jaime really shouldn’t have put this level of subterfuge past the Tyrell’s, especially when it was Margaery, the pretty flower herself, who owned the highly acclaimed club _Petal_. This was a sort of fish tank point of view he hadn’t expected, however. The glass wall before him drew him in, floor to ceiling clear glass served as a window to a mass of dancing bodies. Colored flashing lights illuminated the scene as people milled at the bars, as well as walked up the stairs to get to the VIP balconies.

Yet, there was no sound that accompanied the milling. No Bass. No Music. No glee from the revelers below. And it was only those flashing lights that periodically provided illuminated the otherwise dark and soundproof room he was in.

This club he had agreed to attend--this… whatever this was--was beyond reproach, so why was he feeling a sliver of nerves going up and down his spine beneath his suit?

_You know why. Just like you know why you’re here._ His cousin’s voice sneered inside his brain, berating him for seeking this form of solace.

He shut down that train of thought quickly by paying more attention to his surroundings.

It was obvious that none of the revelers below knew of the whole ‘big brother is watching you’ sort of situation happening above their heads, nor the fact that the hidden room was so much more!

As he changed clothes from his usual suit and tie ensemble to worn-in sweatpants and t-shirt look, Jaime wondered if this room had originally been used as a security post and then had been changed to this. He set the discarded clothes along with the small gym bag he had brought by the pile (or was it a pit?) of pillows in one corner.

It was dizzying to be able to enter a dark room on the upper floor of a dance club and have peeks and teases of it being fully decked out with all sorts of strange paraphernalia--ropes, pieces of furniture, sex toys hanging from the walls--while also being able to see the dance floor and the people below.

To the right, where Jaime could have sworn there had been a solid wall, a door opened to reveal a tall figure standing in the doorway. Lit up from behind, she was still as impressive as she had been the first time they had met...

Earlier that afternoon she had looked like a businesswoman. A smart pantsuit in a lovely shade of deep antique pink that had obviously been carefully chosen as to not wash out her pale complexion. The wide-legged trousers and jacket had been expertly tailored to suit her tall frame, and when she’d slid open the button at the waist of her jacket, a tempting peek of a lace camisole in golden cream had made Jaime’s pants uncomfortably tight--a happenstance that was exceedingly rare, especially after his libido had taken a vacation when he’d finally decided to end the toxic relationship he’d had with his cousin, Cersei.

Jaime’s brother Tyrion had set up the initial meeting, and Jaime had had the hardest time picturing the pink wearing, fresh and freckled-faced blonde woman, who’d been openly smiling at the waiter and fixing her short, loose hair behind her ears as she’d ordered her tea, as the kind of professional that Tyrion had assured Jaime she was.

“You look confused, Mr. Lannister,” she had said, her voice low as she’d finally settled her eyes on him.

Those eyes. He had never seen eyes that blue!

“You’re not what I expected,” he’d found himself replying, taking a sip of his already cool coffee. He’d arrived here early, mostly to make sure that he didn't back out.

She had smiled at him then, a slow unfurling of coral lips that set off the freckles on her face like rose gold fireworks.

“I have learned that for first meetings, and when not playing out a scene or holding a session, it is best for me to wear my everyday clothes. It puts people at ease,” she explained with a lift of a well-rounded shoulder that made him wonder if there was a shoulder pad in that jacket. “Besides, leather and PVC bondage gear in this heat would be highly uncomfortable and mayhaps even squeaky.”

Her eyes had shone with mirth, and for the first time since his breakup Jaime had laughed, then he laughed some more. He laughed until he was wiping tears from his eyes and it felt good.

They had talked over their respective drinks before ordering a second round: coffee for him, tea for her.

“Were we to engage in a session, Mr. Lannister, who do you think would have the power?” she had asked when she was halfway into her second cup.

“Well, that’s a stupid question.”

“Answer it anyway,” She’d shrugged.

“You would. It’s why you are called a dominatrix, isn’t it?”

“Yes and no. I am not going to lie to you. There is a certain level of power to what I do. However, when people agree to play out a scene, it is actually the submissive who has all the power,” she’d explained, leaning forward on her chair and holding her cup with both hands.

Her short fingernails, he’d noticed, were clear of colored polish but clean and shiny.

“You see, Mr. Lannister, it takes a lot more than wearing a leather catsuit and cracking a whip to be what I am. A lot of people are curious as to what I do and want to dabble at one point or another of their lives. But it is surprisingly easy for those who have a certain level of narcissistic nature and delusions of grandeur to give themselves the power and the position of dominants when they know nothing and are not able to carry the responsibilities required of the role. When that happens, their sadistic nature tends to take precedence over everything, and the needs that brought up the curiosity to play in the first place gets squashed under the weight of sessions done wrong.”

“Now, I understand that you and your brother spoke about this and that you understand what he might’ve told me,” she’d said, making his cheeks pink with anger. “Based on some of the characteristics he listed I would not be surprised if your former partner had fallen into the category I speak of. Which is why I would take a different approach to our session, should you decide to go ahead with it.”

“And why should I?” he had asked, feeling himself rearing like a wounded animal.

Even now, he was still not over the fact that Tyrion had quite possibly shared some information with this stranger that Jaime didn’t want other people knowing, even if it was to help him in the end.

“Because you are tired,” she’d replied.

As if she’d been shedding a sense of approachable timidity the woman leaned back in her chair until she was sitting up with her back ramrod straight, shoulders back, chin up, the blue of her eyes almost hypnotic drilling into his.

“You’re an heir to a highly demanding father with very little room for error or actual personal life, except for what is expected of you or found acceptable by the patriarch of your family. You are a devoted brother to a man who, as much as he loves you, tends to be somewhat selfish and depends on you just a little bit too much for stability and unconditional love. You have your career, which consumes your every waking moment and the only concession that you allow yourself, in the shape of your lover, soured simply because there was just not enough of you to give. Or, more accurately, she expected everything and gave very little.”

It was amazing that he’d still been capable of hearing her when his heart had been pounding as wildly as it was in his chest, making the blood swoosh in his ears.

“What I offer you is quite similar to what you give everyone else, Mr. Lannister. My undivided attention, full discretion to your secrets, space where you cannot be bothered by outside influences as well as applying some techniques to help you explore the lifestyle you are, or at least were, interested in, safely and correctly.”

“I don’t think applying nipple clamps to an unsuspecting subject can be considered ‘technique’,” Jaime’d found himself saying dumbly.

Her blue eyes had flashed with a cool warning.

“No one that steps into my room or signs up for my brand of care is an unsuspecting subject, Mr. Lannister. And tools such as clamps, rings, handcuffs and other sorts of toys are never used unless it is agreed upon beforehand by all participating parties. What I offer is the opportunity to have a respite. Everything would be discussed beforehand: what would happen, what’d be done and used, plus if there was a need for some research regarding an act or tool, then another meeting much like this one would be set up so that there could be more communication and all questions could be answered. You would not have to worry about what happens next. There will be no surprises. No expectations on my part except for you to be truthful and open with me,” she offered, her eyes narrowing only slightly. “Aren’t you curious, as to what it would be like? To not have to worry about anything and everything...even if only for a little bit?”

He had been.

So a few other meetings had followed. He’d had questions and she’d had answers, not just bullshit either but research and, on one particular occasion, a small demonstration.

And now here she was. Ready to play...

Her arrival brought dim light to the room, which she set using the dials on the wall to her left. She wore skin-tight black trousers with openings at the sides, a silver thread he recognized to be a minuscule chain crisscrossing all the way down from hip to knee. A patch of fabric kept the pants together before the chain was at it again, a serpent down her long legs until it ended in a teeny tiny silver padlock at the height of her ankles. She was barefoot yet that somehow made her legs seem impossibly longer. Just how tall was she? She had worn heels during their meetings and stood at about 6’7’’, maybe 6’8’’? Flat-footed she must have had a good two inches on him, regarding height!

The idea made his cock twitch inside the sweatpants he was wearing.

He expected something corny, like a full-on overtly shiny PVC catsuit along with cat ears (because why not?) Maybe even one of those super adorned matte black lace corsets he had spied in a supposed fetish clothing store online. One with a sheen like pattern etched into the fabric that would only come into play when she moved.

Instead, she wore an opaque mesh crop top in black with no sleeves, the little black X’s over her nipples fully visible through the fabric. No bra. No need. Her chest wasn’t flat, but her breasts were small and pert. The slight curve to those damned X pasties making his cock instantly harden to half-mast.

His eyes tripped upwards and, gods, her lips were red. Not Lannister red, no. His Lannister red was almost annoyingly orange compared to her matte Bordeaux looking lips. She wore a black mask on her face that covered her from nose to forehead, her blond hair slicked back.

“You wore comfortable clothing,” she said, moving into the room and closing the door behind her. “Did you drink water, as I said?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, _what_?”

His throat tightened at the tone of her voice. It wasn’t sharp but held the unmistakable sound of annoyed expectation.

“Yes, Goddess.”

“Very good,” she praised and he felt a lightning bolt of pleasure skitter down his spine.

She was standing by the black wall now, with her back to him, examining something there.

“What colors will we be using to communicate during this session, what are their meanings and which one are you at, at present?”

“The colors are green, yellow and red. Green means all is good. Yellow means I am unsure, and a slow approach is required. Red means the scene comes to a complete stop,” he recited, the words almost tripping to get out of his throat. “I am currently at Green, Goddess.”

“And when are you able to use these colors?”

“Whenever I feel the need for it, Goddess.”

“That’s a very good Lion,” she said, turning on her heel with two sets of black rope curled around her hand. “Let us begin then,”


End file.
